


Bitter Dreams and Memories

by AgenderMaine (AngelusErrare)



Series: Falling Towards The Feels [8]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: carwash siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8399875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelusErrare/pseuds/AgenderMaine
Summary: "You think those moments... the good times we had... do you think they make up for the things we did?"Wash frowns, crossing his legs in the snow. "We thought we were doing the right thing. That has to count for something even if everything else doesn't."





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this work is taken from [my playlist](https://playmoss.com/en/agendermaine/playlist/bitter-dreams-and-memories) created for Wash and Carolina as the lone survivors of Project Freelancer.
> 
> The work itself was inspired by the last song on that playlist, ['Feel The Light' by Jennifer Lopez](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9fdAt0ke9w8).

When he first saw the cyan figure, Washington thought it was Tucker. Now he just thinks it's a dream. Maybe a nightmare.

He usually wakes up from nightmares screaming.

Carolina sits beside him, helmet off, green eyes still fixed on the stars they were watching. She's only his elder by four years, but she seems older. He figures he does too. He feels ancient, has since Epsilon was implanted and integrated with him, since the AI's shrieking agony broke something in them both, since Epsilon self-destructed and took part of Wash with him.

He usually wakes up from nightmares screaming. 

Whether they're his nightmares or Epsilon's, he can't say.

Carolina being alive is not the nightmare; Washington is no longer the sole survivor of Project Freelancer, no longer the keeper of secrets, no longer alone in his mourning of what used to be. No longer mourning the only family he had. Sitting next to her, some of the fractures in his soul feel a little less separate, a little less broken. A little more right.

It's the memories she brings with her that hurt, the knowledge of what went wrong and what was lost because of it.

 

She wants to hunt down the Director.

Actually, she wants to hunt down Epsilon, _then_ hunt down the Director. With the Alpha AI being based on the Director's personality and all the fragments being part of it, something in Epsilon's memories might lead them to whatever hole the Director is hiding in.

She blames the Director for what happened to the Project, for everything the Freelancers did under his orders that others labeled "terrorism". She blames the Director for South's attitude, for York's lost eye and Maine's ruined throat, for her own reckless rage and rivalry with Tex.

She blames herself for what happened to Maine. Says that Sigma was hers and if she hadn't been lost in guilt over Maine's injury he would have been hers and maybe the Meta would still have come into being, but damn it, at least it would have been her and not Maine.

(If he knew how, he would have laughed when she said that. He knows Maine would have felt the same; glad it was them and nobody else.)

She blames herself for what happened to Wash. Says if she hadn't been so self-absorbed and jealous of Tex, he wouldn't have been given Epsilon. Wouldn't be the wreck of a man he is now.

Washington doesn't smile. Doesn't tell her the damage came from more than just the A.I. Doesn't remind her of another night, different stars, and bodies crammed on and around the rec room couch, falling asleep to the gentle hum of the ship. The last night they spent as a team. The next morning was Wash's implantation. That night, Tex's rebellion, Maine's death and the Meta's birth, _her_ supposed death, and the beginning of his life on the Recovery team. North's and York's deaths, South's betrayal, his hunt for and eventual partnership with the Meta.

Epsilon might have cracked him, but it's the years that came after that broke him.

But sitting next to Carolina, Wash feels just a little _less_ broken.

 

She hates herself. Worse than his own self-loathing. Carolina blames herself for CT's death, for the Meta, for things she had no control over to begin with. For South setting up North and then shooting Wash, for York dying because Wyoming has no concept of _loyalty_ , for Wash getting hit by a warthog _even though there is literally no way_ she could have known about that or prevented it.

And he can see it in the way she sits, shoulders hunched slightly inward, bottle-green eyes glazed and dark. She's thinking about it now.

"Hey, stop that," he murmurs, oddly clear in the empty night. "Dwelling on it won't fix anything."

When she turns to look at him, the smile doesn't reach her eyes. "At this point, there's not much left of either of us to fix, Wash."

He sighs, nodding in agreement. "Yeah. I know."

They return to their companionable silence for several minutes, Wash admittedly lapsing back into the same memories he warned Carolina against. But this time, not all of them are bad.

"Remember the night I got bumped back up to Alpha Team?"

It takes her a second to realize he spoke, but once she does she chuckles. "North and South, right? God, that was forever ago."

"How drunk _were_ you guys?"

"Drunk enough for them to forget they knew you," Carolina admits, shaking her head. "I think Maine was under a table at some point."

"You're shitting me."

"No, really! We drank more that night than we did on Florida's birthday."

They both groan at the memory of the party the blue agent threw, at the number of bottles of beer they each downed and the hellacious hangovers they had to deal with for training the net day.

"Wasn't Butch in a speedo at some point?"

Wash chokes slightly. Okay, that he _didn't_ want to remember. "Did they have any shame?"

"I don't think they knew the meaning of the word. Or maybe we were all too drunk to care." A pause, then Carolina adds, "Probably both."

"Definitely both."

This time the silence stretches on longer, and it's Carolina who breaks it. "You think those moments... the good times we had... do you think they make up for the things we did?"

Wash frowns, crossing his legs in the snow and grateful for his temperature-regulated armor. "We thought we were doing the right thing. That has to count for something even if everything else doesn't."

"How many people did we hurt while 'doing the right thing', Wash?"

He doesn't know. Doesn't want to think about it. Doesn't answer.

"Do you think there's any part of us worth saving after that?"

He doesn't have an answer for that, either. "All we can do is try to make up for it."

"Yeah," Carolina says softly. "Yeah."

 

They sit together in their silence for a while more before Wash forces himself to stand, boots crunching on the snow. "I need to check on the Reds and Blues," he explains when she shoots him a quizzical look. "Caboose gets confused easily, and he might come looking for me if he gets it into his head that I'm lost and need help."

"Well I do think you're sorta lost," a voice says from behind them. Reflex has Wash's hand twitching toward his pistol, but Carolina's the one who draws on Caboose. The dark blue soldier doesn't seem fazed. Wash doesn't know how they didn't hear him approaching.

"Caboose, what are you doing here?" He tries not to shout, he really does, but he doesn't know how much of that conversation Caboose might have heard, and he doesn't have the energy to try explaining anything.

"I was looking for you, Agent Washingtub."

It's the first time in weeks that Caboose has called him Washington instead of Church; he can't seem to hold on to the concept of Wash being in Church's armor but not _being_ him. It surprises him enough that he doesn't answer Caboose in time.

"You know how when you break a jar or a pretty bowl, it is broken and sharp and you are sad?"

He doesn't really know what Caboose is getting at, but he nods anyway. Carolina lowers the pistol.

"Well, you can fix it! Maybe not completely." Caboose tilts his head, visor shining in the moonlight. "Maybe some pieces are missing, or they got broken into teeny tiny little bits that you cannot find because there is nothing _to_ find!"

"Caboose, what are you talking about?" Wash questions calmly. Calm is the key to dealing with Caboose. More often than not, getting frustrated with Caboose's weird way of thinking only results in being angry.

"You are a lot like that bowl!" Caboose declares, and Wash imagines he's grinning behind the mask. "You are very very broken and very very sad, and even with glue there are missing pieces and a lot of sharp edges and if you touch them you might get hurt. But that is okay!"

"Why is it okay," Wash asks, voice unexpectedly hoarse.

"Because with time you can figure out how to not get hurt by the sharp parts!"

"Go back inside." Wash doesn't mean to sound so harsh, but Caboose doesn't know the wounds he's rubbing at, can't possibly understand what Wash has been through.

Caboose nods and "okay"s, and Wash watches him walk back toward the abandoned Sidewinder base they've been camping in. But when he's almost there, Wash's comm crackles in his helmet. "Agent Washingtub?"

"Yes, Caboose?"

"I think you are still worth saving."

Wash has to disconnect from their radio channel so Caboose can't hear how his voice cracks, how he almost chokes as he watches the other soldier walk away.


End file.
